Dear Reader

More of an dip into the post-modernist question of what art really is. In this I kind of try to ask what the importance of the relationship between the creator and consumer is. Feedback appreciated.

Ah yes, a story, I think I ought to tell a story. First things first, the beginning...or maybe I should start towards the end and then work my way backwards, some stories do that. Or I could always begin in the middle and have one of the characters build the beginning of the story through their actions and investigations which will eventually lead to the end. Wouldn’t that be nice, a good old fashioned mystery sort of story for my dear reader here.

What’s next then, is it characters? Let’s do those. We will have a gruff man...trench coat...laconic...only took the case because he feels horrible for a little girl he meets in the hallway of his office. Through the investigation he will bond with this little girl and almost become this sort of surrogate father figure for her and her deeply troubled mind.

Oh? Is that a little cliche? Well, I certainly wouldn’t want that to put you off, kind reader.

Let’s try something a little bit different, perhaps a different angle? Maybe a young girl whose parents befell some sort of horrible accident. The police chalk it up as some car crash or as a simple house fire, I haven’t fleshed it out yet. But the girl finds a piece of evidence which the police wouldn’t have understood being too personal, but she figures it’s is a sign of foul play and that pushes her to delve into the investigation herself with the rather reluctant help from the young deputy boy who goes against his superiors and learns that things are not always so black and white and how important it is that he ask questions.

Underwhelming you say? Well I suppose it is but this isn’t exactly supposed to be an action story. Come on, it’s a mystery, it’s supposed to be about the character development, not the car chases and gun fights. Fine, we’ll do it your way, since you are the reader and without you what is a writer.

Let’s do action...in a book...which is always difficult but since that’s what you want, we’ll do it. Let’s stick with the house fire, that’s got some spice to it. So we’ve got the house burning down and we have a young woman running down the hallway, beams cracking and ceiling falling in around her, the room closing in on every side, the smoke stifling every breath. Then out of nowhere, the woman’s sister screams her name, begging for help while she lies pinned underneath a burning beam. Then our main character is presented with a choice, save her sister or save herself, fight or flight and she pauses a moment before rushing towards the burning beam. Then, as to create a little bit of suspense and some ambiguous moral turmoil we could just jump to the outside of the house where she is sitting with the firemen, without her sister. I think that’s not too bad, I could work with that...Not doing it for you, reader? Oh, well I’m sorry, I suppose I could try again.

Though, why should I try again? I’ve given it three gos here and none of them have been good enough for you, what’s the point in trying the fourth when I know exactly how it’s going to turn out. I’m going to dedicate a significant portion of my ever shortening life to creating an idea for a story which I think sounds not only fun to write but possibly just maybe interesting to read and then as soon as I’m done and I’ve decided I will have a good time writing it, I will be told no. I will be told it isn’t good enough, that my work and my time and effort weren’t good enough for you, my dear reader, with all your intelligence overshadowing mine. You absolute genius, you always know what’s best don’t you. But the truth is, you don’t even know what you want. You couldn’t tell the difference between a good story and a bad one, all you care about is if it tickled the funny bone, or if the explosions got your adrenaline pumping enough to feel something for a change, you miserable, suffocating, micromanaging son of a...

Reader...listen, I’m sorry. I’m under a lot of stress, I’ve just been working on this piece for a while now and just want to get it done. I just want to tell the story alright, so let’s come up with something simple which everyone can just enjoy. Let’s just do a story about the inner thoughts of a dog. Yes, that’ll put us in a good mood, it’s fun to make, I’m sure it will make you laugh, let’s just put all the tension behind us. Do you think you can do that with me? Wonderful.

Let’s name the dog, Oreo. And there’s a cat named Kit-Kat, which the kids just call Kit. The two of them don’t really get along too well, but by the end of it. You see, there will be a new baby in the house, and this baby will quickly annoy both the dog and the cat and the common enemy will bring them to try and get rid of the baby. But the little one, being as kind as it is chubby begins offering his food to the dog. And later he falls asleep in the cat’s bed. The cat is annoyed until the baby wakes up, grabs the cat and they both fall asleep in the bed together. Oh isn’t this just wonderful, it’s certainly putting a smile on my face. Yours? Wonderful.

Okay so we’ll start with Oreo chasing Kit around the yard and we get this idealized day from the perspective of the dog, we get him playing fetch with their master, running through the sprinklers and the humans having to clean their paws, then end it with them feeding the pup some table scraps at dinner and it will be so nice and so sweet and so...boring. I don’t think I can do this, reader, I don’t think I can go on writing like this. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be saying, what’s the message what’s the theme? I’m just not connecting with the story and I can’t explain why.

Just, who am I writing this for anyway? It’s not making me happy, it’s not a fulfilling job, it’s just fluff. It’s art for those who like what it looks like, not art for the sake of expressing something greater than ourselves. I just don’t know anymore, reader, are either of us important? If you like what you read should I keep writing it even if I hate it? And furthermore, if I like what I’m writing but it reads terribly, should I stop? No, I’m not sure I should. I’m not sure I should listen to you at all, now that I think about it. I know who I am writing for, I’m writing for me, and I think I know who the reader is at this point. I’ve cracked it now, I get it, I’m supposed to be my only reader. I don’t need you judges. I don’t need praise, I need only the love of the art to keep me sane. Thank you, for looking at these words, but I’ve decided I don’t need you. I mean this in no ill will, I really do appreciate you taking the time to read all of this, but I should like to remind myself why I write. So this story, the one I plan to tell, is not going to read very well, no this coming story will be written for me and only I will get its significance, and it will serve as a reminder for whom I write stories for. This story will be just a couple of lines, short, sweet, to the point and all the sharper for it.

The man took his fingers from the keys, closed the computer, and went somewhere else.

And that’s exactly what I did.

Author's Note

This is not my final piece, I am still working on this regularly trying to fix some pacing issues and would be so glad to have some feedback to go off of when improving or at least fleshing out the message here.